


Shifting Gears

by ladydragon76



Series: Shifting Gears [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, warning: dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> There’s always an adventure when The Weapon of the Week<sup>™</sup> blows up, and this time it’s ripped a tiny tear in the barrier between dimensions.  Poor Drift though, has he escaped one cage just to fall into another?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shifting Gears

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** G1, IDW  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** R  
>  **Characters:** IDW Drift, Wing, G1 Ensemble  
>  **Warnings:** Previous Dub-con mentioned, AU,  
>  **Notes:** Commissioned by Boots! ♥ Thank you! ^_^

Drift stared at the dark ceiling, audials keyed to the soft sound of Wing’s recharging systems. He should be recharging too, as mornings with Wing started early, but he just couldn’t. His processors wouldn’t stop spinning and his whole body ached. Even the buzz from the intense overload still making his sensornet sing couldn’t mask the pain or quiet his mind. And tomorrow would be more of the same. More ‘training’ that would leave him sore and exhausted. Then more too-sweet energon, and more too-sweet Wing.

Tomorrow night would find Drift in the exact same predicament he was in now.

Drift forced his vents to cycle evenly, suppressing the frustrated growl that curled in his chest and wanted to rise out. He couldn’t ease up on his self-control even a little. If he did, he was afraid that the growl, that _knot_ in his chest, squeezing like a vice around his spark, would turn into a raging howl. It all felt so… _pointless_!

It wasn’t as though Drift wasn’t improving. He was. He could tell, and Wing said so. Then again, give him a few months of intensive ‘training’ where he got his aft humiliatingly slagged on a day to day basis, he’d almost _have_ to improve.

He also got the message. He _did_!

Drift absolutely knew what Wing was trying to show him. New Crystal City was everything Drift had always wanted. Clean and beautiful, peaceful. It was filled with art and friendly, open, smiling mechs that all greeted one another like they were the best of friends. They had energon, some sort of free trade system instead of creds, and spent their days in pursuit of whatever made them happy. There was work to be done, but someone always wanted to do it, or at least easily accepted that it was their turn, and that it was fair.

Never before had Drift imagined a place as perfect as New Crystal City.

He didn’t belong there. Not even a little.

Drift was trainable, adaptable, and so he did as was expected of him every single day, but he hated it. It chafed. He was being slowly suffocated, but he tried to smile and wave and be friendly. It felt false. A thin, flaking veneer slapped on over rust and corrosion.

Worst of all was how much Drift _wanted_ everything that New Crystal City was, but he wanted it on _Cybertron_. He wanted the stars above his helm. He wanted to be able to go anywhere, do anything, be… anyone. Someone different. If he could.

Unable to remain still any longer and fearing he’d wake Wing if he stayed, Drift slipped from the berth. The apartment was dark and silent, the hour late enough that even the city was quieter. There were some sounds, but they were indistinct and distant -at least as 'distant' as sound could be in a big cavern- and barely reached Drift where he stood high on Wing’s balcony.

Staring at the sleeping city wasn’t helping Drift’s mood at all though, so went back inside. He poked into the energon storage and took a goodie. Flavor burst bright and sweet in his mouth, and he felt almost immediately guilty for having taken it. He hadn’t needed it, but figured that if Wing even noticed, he wouldn’t have minded. He’d probably have thought that Drift was making progress by choosing to consume something frivolous.

Drift threw himself on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, but within seconds he was bouncing his legs, that bubble of frustration pushing against his spark. Without really thinking, he was up and out the door. Trusting fool that Wing was, it wasn’t locked or coded to keep Drift inside.

Drift took the lift to the lobby, then darted out the door. In only moments he was lost from sight, creeping from shadow to shadow, careful to avoid the few mechs still out and about. _Everyone_ would recognize Drift on sight, which would end up in Drift being detained and Wing called. There would be a lecture then too. Wing would ever so gently chide him for sneaking out without permission, then hug him or something. Drift could already feel the guilt heating his face.

_Stupid. Fraggin’ prisoner. Supposed to try to escape._

Not that that would make Wing any less hurt that Drift had tried. Of course, he didn’t even know where he was going or how to get out of the city. There was an exit, at least one, somewhere that wasn’t guarded since Wing liked to sneak out too. Hypocritical slagger. Drift shouldn’t yearn for freedom, but Wing sure broke the rules to taste it whenever it suited _him_.

Drift sighed, and ducked around another corner. He was lost, but so what? Wing would find him in the morning, drag him back, and then shake his finger at him. It was fragging tedious. He could just imagine the words too. The sighing. The disappointed expression and dim, wounded optics.

Drift paused and leaned against a wall to scrub at his face. He should just go back. Maybe even if he was caught the fact that he was returning would make Wing proud instead. He just needed a walk. He was restless and couldn’t recharge. He could lie and say how the quiet of the city soothed him.

_Wait. What’s that?_

Drift frowned and inched his way along the alley. He could hear… battle? Not just a fight, but _combat_ , complete with blaster fire and… was that an explosion?

Drift ran, instinct taking over, but as he got closer voices became clearer. His spark leapt.

 _I’ve lost my mind_ , Drift thought, whipping around a corner, charging toward Megatron’s voice. He shot out from between two buildings, the paving turning to rock under his feet, then slid to a stop. There before him, hovering just off the ground was what looked an awful lot like a holo-projection. In it, however, Drift could see _Megatron_.

“Impossible,” he muttered, edging closer.

Megatron threw a punch, the clank of metal on metal echoing. Drift could barely see the silver mech, or the red and blue mech he was fighting due to all the orange-ish dust hanging in the air, but he was _sure_ it was Megatron and Optimus Prime. But how was the orange dust so thick in just that _one_ place? What the slag was Drift looking at?

“Drift! Stop!”

Drift flinched and looked back. Wing was charging down the alley toward him, hand reaching, and something close to panic gripped Drift’s spark.

“Don’t do it!” Wing _ordered_.

Do what? But then Drift knew because he was already doing it. He sprinted for the image, cursing his stupidity even as he ran. Behind him Wing was shouting at him, and the sound of thrusters filled the air. Drift threw himself at the image, only realizing belatedly that he had been looking _down_ on the battle between Megatron and Optimus Prime, but he didn’t care. It was Megatron.

It was freedom.

~ | ~

“We have to go after him,” Wing insisted, trotting to keep up with Dai Atlas’ long strides as he left the site of Drift’s disappearance. Granted the tracking signal was gone. No static, no feedback, just _gone_.

“No, we do not.”

“He could be lost some-” Wing cut off, nearly crashing into Dai Atlas as he stopped and turned to face him.

“Good riddance. No, I won’t hear it, Wing. You never should have brought him here in the first place. He’s gone, and while I encourage the scientists of our community to discover what happened, it is _only_ so they may prevent it from ever happening again.”

“But if they do discover how, then-”

“No,” Dai Atlas said more firmly, then turned to walk away.

Wing followed. “He might need our help!”

Dai Atlas stopped again, and Wing bit his lip. There were Knights and scientists and security mechs all over, and many were close enough to hear the words despite Dai Atlas’ low tone. “I will _not_ risk the _tens of thousands_ of lives in _this_ city so you can satisfy this selfish hunger of yours. There are other ways to be a hero than to force an unwilling mech to conform to your wishes.” He shook his helm, and stepped away again. “No, Wing. Even should they figure out how this occurred, we will _not_ be replicating the… anomaly. He fled from you and stumbled upon an escape. The mech would rather fling himself into the unknown than stay with you. Accept it.

“What we need to concern ourselves with now is being sure that we are ready and properly alerted should he return with a more destructive force.”

“He wouldn’t! We were making progress,” Wing protested, shoulders sinking as Dai Atlas walked away. “We were,” he said as someone huffed a disbelieving sound. Wing didn’t see who, however, as his stinging optics were locked on the ground.

~ | ~

“He’s coming up,” a voice said.

Drift blinked the static from his optics, then blinked some more. “Orange.” He groaned and tried to roll away from the sight, but was stopped. He squirmed against the straps, testing them for weakness, but he was securely bound.

“Yes, orange. Very astute of you,” the same voice said, and Drift turned his helm to look. His optics shot wide, and he tried to sit up despite the straps. “Hey, looky there. You’re tied up too.”

It was Ratchet! Fragging Pits. Drift was either in a lot of trouble, or could use this to his advantage. The medic wasn’t acting like he remembered him yet, but then Drift looked really different now. Pits, the medics in New Crystal City even changed his frelling _optics_ from red to blue. It was no surprise he wasn’t recognized.

“Ratchet,” Prime said in warning.

Drift would know _that_ voice anywhere. He had never met the Prime before, but there wasn’t a living mech that wouldn’t recognize him.

“Don’t ‘Ratchet’ me, Optimus,” Ratchet huffed. “You’re the one that wanted a pet Decepticon.”

“I didn’t wa-” Prime cut off as Ratchet smirked. “Are we ready here?”

Drift tensed. Ready for what? He looked around, noticing another two mechs off to the side and bent over a few datapads. Yeah. Slag this. “I’m ready to leave.”

Ratchet snorted. “He’s stable, fine really, so go ahead.”

Drift watched Ratchet walk over to the other mechs, spark pounding. He was so slagged. He needed to get the frag out of here. At least Wing hadn’t kept him tied down, though after running away, he might give it a try.

“Let’s start with your name. You don’t match anyone in our database,” Prime said, drawing Drift’s full attention.

“Drift,” Drift answered, glancing over at Ratchet, but the medic didn’t so much as twitch. Well, it was better than Deadlock. Deadlock was a name they were sure to know, and that would count against him before he could figure out an escape or try gaining their trust enough for them to let their guard down. It was the same reason he’d used his old name with Wing. Look, little obedient Drift. He’s just so confused and lost.

“When did you arrive on Earth, Drift?” Prime asked. “How many others were with you?”

“Wait. What?”

Prime’s optics narrowed. “When did you arrive? What is Megatron up to now?”

“No,” Drift said, “that’s not what… Earth?”

“This planet is called Earth. How many others came with you? Why did Megatron order you off of Cybertron?”

Drift just blinked. “Let me go.”

“Not a chance,” Prime growled, and leaned in closer.

Drift hated that the intimidation worked. Prime was _big_. Megatron big, and Drift had no doubt the mech could slag him if he wanted to.

“Answer me, Decepticon Drift.”

“Where’s Earth? The frag’s goin’ on?!”

“When did you arrive on Earth?” Prime asked again, his face far too close to Drift’s. His EM field battered at Drift’s, all leashed power and aggression.

“I don’t know!” Drift bit out a curse, then continued. “I don’t know, ok? The frag is Earth? How long have you had me here?”

Ratchet was back, and Drift couldn’t help giving him a pleading look. “You’ve been unconscious only a day, and that was so I could be sure you were stable after handling the injured from the last battle. You remember that? We found you there, abandoned by Megatron, dented and battered in the dirt.”

Drift shook his helm, cycling his vents, aiming for that calm Wing was trying to teach him. “Wasn’t in a battle. Was in New Crystal City. Was walkin’, saw this portal thing, heard Megatron’s voice. Had to get away, so ran for it. Dove through.”

“Get away from what?” Prime asked.

“Portal?” one of the mechs asked, bustling over. “What kind of portal? How was it formed?”

Drift could feel the scans washing over him, and only tensed a little as a lead was plugged into his medical port. “Dunno. Never saw anything like it before.”

“But you were running _toward_ Megatron’s voice,” Prime said.

Drift shrugged. He was a Decepticon. Of all they stole from him in New Crystal City, they had left him his brand, carefully recreating it on the new plating.

“Oh! Oh my, Wheeljack! Look at these readings.”

Wheeljack and Ratchet leaned in from either side, and Drift watched, barely comprehending the words the red mech was saying.

“What is it, Perceptor?” Prime asked.

Perceptor looked up with a bright smile. “I believe he might be from an entirely different reality. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Are you sure?”

“We’ve seen readin’s kinda like this before,” Wheeljack replied, helm fins flashing. “There’re some differences, but whoever heard of a New Crystal City? I’d guess he’s from a different time if not a different timeline. Some of these readin’s match up with both possibilities.”

“You all sound crazy,” Drift said, his tone flat. Different reality? Different time? Like time travel? And they were all just accepting such a ludicrous concept like someone had just given them the weather report? Prime gave Drift a look he was sure was mean to chide him, but all Drift could do was stare back, disbelief stamped onto his face.

“Yes, it’s fascinating, Perceptor, but Drift is still a Decepticon.” Prime straightened. “He can’t be allowed to roam loose while this is figured out.”

“We need him here,” Perceptor insisted, ignoring as Ratchet started to protest. “I can’t possibly do all I need to in the brig.”

Drift growled, kicking against his restraints. “So fragging sick of mechs deciding my life for me. Why I became a ‘Con.”

Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah? How’s that been working out for you?”

Drift subsided, refusing to acknowledge that the barb had landed, and stared angrily up at the ceiling as they decided he could be locked up in one of the side rooms. Prime finally agreed, but said he would be sending ‘around the clock’ guards.

At least they weren’t pretending Drift was anything other than a prisoner. He could act like one now and not have to deal with Wing’s sad, betrayed face while doing so.

~ | ~

Drift sat on the med berth, leads attached to ports, Perceptor babbling on and on over the scanners and readouts and scribbling notes on five different datapads.

“This is all so interesting. What was your Cybertron like? Where did you online?”

Drift shrugged. “Dark. Dirty.” He shifted a bit, uncomfortable. “Lived in the gutters all my life. ‘Til Megatron picked me out of the crowd at a rally.”

“How terrifying.”

“Megatron’s not that scary.” Not that Drift would ever say that to his face.

Perceptor snickered. “I was referring to the gutters. Most thought it was just a frightening sparkling’s tale, but I did my sophomore thesis on the Empties that dwell in the gutters of most major Cybertronian cities.” The smile faded. “Sadly, there are even more now.”

Drift blinked. “You went _looking_ for Empties?”

“How else was I to write about them?”

Drift snickered a little, and shook his helm. “Slag that. Fraggers are crazy.”

“You have experience with them? What am I asking? Of course you would.”

“Empties, Bleeders,” Drift nodded. “I stayed out of the places that supposedly had spark eaters, but knew a guy that would swear he survived one attacking him. He was crazy too.”

“What is a spark eater? I suppose I could deduce properly from the name, but is that a particularly gruesome type of Empty?” Perceptor asked, scribbling more on a datapad. Drift wasn’t sure if he was still just that bad at reading, or if Perceptor’s handwriting was really that horrendous.

“Monsters.” Drift shrugged. “Dunno that they were ever mechs like the Empties were. Spark eaters are just monsters. Stories say they’ve got sharp claws that can tear through even the thickest plating, and they’re never safe t’be around. Even if they’ve fed on so many sparks they’re glowing. They’ll still rip you up and eat yours too.”

Bright blue optics blinked. “I have never before heard of such a thing. I wonder if our Cybertron has them? Though one would think that there would be some tale of their existence.” Perceptor visibly shifted gears, smiled, and asked, “So you took the first chance you could to escape the dangers of the gutters? I could hardly blame you there.”

“No,” Drift said. “I probably could have gotten out. Once.” He chewed his lip, staring down at his hands. “Ratchet. Saved my life. Never boosted after that, but I didn’t believe him, so I went right back to the gutters once I was repaired.”

“You knew Ratchet?” Perceptor opened his comms and called for Ratchet to join them before Drift could protest.

Drift sat silently for the moment it took Ratchet to enter the room, Perceptor all but bouncing beside him.

“What’s up, Percy?” Ratchet asked, stepping in to look at all the equipment. “You’re way too excited. Figure it out?”

“Oh, not even close yet,” Perceptor replied. “Drift knows you.”

Ratchet looked up sharply, pinning Drift with his optics. “Is that so?”

“In Rodion. Saved my life,” Drift muttered.

“Rodion? I don’t know of a Rodion.” Ratchet glanced back and hooked a chair with his foot, hauling it over to sit on. “Tell me what you remember. Maybe it’s just a place name mix up.”

“I still doubt that very much,” Perceptor said, beaming.

Drift hitched one shoulder up in a shrug. “Used ta boost.”

“Boost what?” Ratchet asked.

“Circuit boosters.”

Ratchet frowned. “Ever hear it called Syk?”

Drift shook his helm. “Circuit booster’s a circuit booster. Syk is Syk.”

“Huh. Alright. Go on.”

“Well, I was brought to this secret clinic you ran after some snatchers tried to abduct me. It was a bad trip, and from what you- he told me, my spark was guttering. Said I was meant for bigger things. Found out I could shoot, started running with a new crowd, ended up at a rally.” Drift shrugged again. “Megatron pulled me up on stage. Gave me a new name. Was only a few months ago I had to run. Turmoil was slagged off at me. Figured I’d escape him, go make it up to Megatron somehow. Ended up rescued, then locked up by Wing.”

“And that was in that New Crystal City?” Ratchet nodded to himself a bit.

“I truly believe he _is_ from a different reality.” Perceptor did bounce this time, then bent to write more.

Ratchet chuckled at him, then looked back up at Drift. “So how fragged was this New Crystal City? Also a place I’ve never heard of.”

“Wouldn’t have. Not on Cybertron. Beautiful. Everything I wanted- everything I fought for Cybertron to be.” Drift realized he was knotting and twisting his fingers together in his lap, and forced himself to place his hands flat on the berth to either side of his legs. “The Knights built this city underground. Cave was huge. The ceiling would glow with light, then look like the night sky. Didn’t use creds, just traded. Energon was nothing. Could get it anywhere, but there were all these cafes and restaurants where the owners made it fancy.”

“So why were you running from that?”

“Was a prisoner.” Drift really needed to stop shrugging. It was becoming a damn habit. “Wing was nice. Wasn’t locked up, but couldn’t go anywhere without him, and wasn’t allowed to leave. No one’s allowed to leave. Having to look after me was Wing’s punishment for going out, and then for bringing me back.”

Ratchet frowned. “So your rescuer was your jailer?”

“Yeah. Like I said. Mostly nice. Told me that if I could defeat him in swords, he’d free me anyways. Was there months, hadn’t even gotten close to winning. Made up for it with the ‘facing though.” Drift looked down as Perceptor started removing the leads and packing up.

“I would love to stay and listen, however, I really should get this data sorted and compiled.” Perceptor hugged the datapads to his chest and smiled at Drift. “I will likely be back tomorrow. Perhaps we can speak more?”

“Uh… yeah.”

Ratchet rose, keying open the door for Perceptor, then came back to Drift. Two cubes of energon were pulled from his subspace, one offered to Drift. “So, serious question time. Since it was Megatron you were running toward when you fell down the rabbit hole, do you want to go to him now?”

Drift considered for a moment, then shook his helm. “Not the Megatron I know. Besides, the one thing Wing really did convince me of was how far away from the original path the ‘Cons have gone. Just didn’t want to be in his pretty cage anymore.” He paused, then decided why not? “Don’t want to be in _any_ cage anymore.”

Ratchet nodded, then gestured at the energon. “Drink that. You need it. Then I want you to get some rest. Goodnight.”

Drift tipped his helm, listening at the lock beeped. That had been… abrupt.

With nothing else to do, Drift drained the energon, then settled back to try and recharge. His life was surreal and he didn’t know what to make of any of it.

~ | ~

Drift had not seen Prime since that first day, and now, a little more than a week later, he felt his spark jump as Prime entered his room behind Ratchet. Ratchet said nothing, crossing to the counter and pulling out a datapad from his subspace.

“How are you doing, Drift?” Prime asked.

“Fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it. May I?” Prime gestured to the berth as Ratchet was in the only chair. Drift scooted to the side, turning a bit as Prime sat with one leg on the berth and facing him. It was a weirdly familiar, relaxed sort of way to sit, especially for the Prime.

“Allow me to get straight to the point,” Prime said. “We had a meeting regarding your future, and I have a couple options to put to you.”

Drift bit back the urge to growl.

“To start with, I must apologize. Perceptor has led the entire science division in their efforts to find a way to get you home. When they discovered that even the residual evidence was gone, I sent Mirage into the Decepticon base looking for the plans to Megatron’s weapon as we believe its destruction was what tore open that portal, but we were unsuccessful. I’m sorry, Drift, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to send you back to your own reality.”

Blinking, Drift scrambled for something to say. He’d known that Perceptor was interested in figuring it all out, but going back? He’d never suspected that _that_ was what they were working toward.

Prime’s optics glowed a dim, rich blue, genuine sadness in his field. A large, powerful hand rested on Drift’s shoulder. “We met to discuss the options we’re comfortable offering to you. Clearly, we can’t keep you locked up in the medbay or even the brig indefinitely. The Decepticons will eventually learn of your presence, and Primus only knows what Megatron will do then.

“So. Should I contact Megatron and see if I can squeeze a short ceasefire out of him for the return of one of his warriors, or do you wish to stay with us? Now, if you do wish to stay, you will be required to commit to a probationary period and the removal of your Decepticon symbol.”

“Probation?” Drift asked. That sounded an awful lot like what Wing would call it.

Prime dipped his chin in a nod. “I’m not entirely sure on the length. It will depend largely on your behavior as everyone gets used to you. To be quite honest, you choosing to stay is going to be a _lot_ harder on everyone. Red Alert is fit to be tied. Ironhide was grumbling, and there have been plenty of mechs wondering, complaining, and outright whining about the ‘‘Con in the medbay’. But I will not turn you out if you will agree to live peacefully with us. You’ll have tasks as everyone here does work, but I will not ask you to fight against your former faction.” He paused, helm tipping a little. “Assuming, of course, that you choose to stay.”

Drift glanced over at Ratchet, then back up to Prime. “I could be some use around here. I’m not trained or anything, but I have enough experience with emergency patch jobs to do that, or clean and organize. Same with the labs.” He gestured to Ratchet who was now watching him intently. “Hang around the mechs that aren’t cringing back and already know me a bit.”

Prime nodded. “Very well.” His gaze hardened. “Please don’t make me regret this.”

Drift watched him leave, thinking that was far too easy. The Prime was a tool to believe Drift just like that. Of course, what were Drift’s choices? Sure, they would send him to the Decepticons, but on this planet the Decepticons lived at the bottom of the ocean. Drift had also heard enough crazy slag from Perceptor, Wheeljack, and even Skyfire, about this reality’s Megatron. He still didn’t know what a purple gryphon was, but the way Ratchet had snorted a laugh, Wheeljack had cackled, and Perceptor had giggled was enough to convince him it was ridiculous.

“If you are in agreement, I already volunteered to be your babysitter,” Ratchet said.

Drift arched an optic ridge at the sander in the medic’s hands as he crossed to the med berth. “S’fine.”

“Great. Now lay back. Can’t have that purple thing on you scaring the natives.”

~ | ~

It was dark in Ratchet’s quarters, and Drift moved slowly so he wouldn’t trip over anything in the unfamiliar space. Sure the medic had told him he could have the couch until a second berth could be brought in, but Drift owed the mech. He owed the one he knew before, and this one now. Drift was supposed to remind Ratchet in the morning about that second berth, but he had shared just fine with Wing. He could share with Ratchet too.

“Wha’ th’frag?” Ratchet mumbled, whole frame tensing under Drift’s hands. “Drift?”

“Yeah.”

Ratchet sat up, hands fumbling in the dark until he finally found Drift’s upper arms. “What’s wrong? You ok?”

“M’fine.” Drift pushed his hands up Ratchet’s arms and leaned in.

Instead of lying back, Ratchet’s hands rang on Drift’s chest plating. “Whoa! No way! Nuh uh! Stop. You’re pretty, but no fragging way are we ‘facing.”

“What?”

“You’re my _ward_ , Drift.” The lights suddenly came on, dim, but more than bright enough for Drift to see the shock on Ratchet’s face. “There’s this thing called consent. We’re big on it here. And you? You don’t have enough power in this arrangement to give consent freely.”

Drift sat back on his heels, optics wide and jaw hanging a bit. Under the layer of stunned disbelief he even felt a little insulted. Who the frag was this mech to tell him he didn’t know what he wanted?

Wait... Did he want Ratchet? Drift scowled, helm tipping as the medic continued.

“I get it. I know what Wing pulled with you, but there’ll be no fragging or fighting me for your freedom. You want to leave? Walk out of the _Ark_?” Ratchet pointed over Drift’s shoulder at the door. “There’s the exit. You need me to help you find your way outside?”

Drift blinked, and Ratchet stared at him for a moment. “ _Or_ ,” he said at length, “do you want to earn your place with us and our trust?” Ratchet pointed again, the angle differing enough for Drift to know he was pointing at the couch. “You can recharge right over there.”

Drift slid backwards off the berth, then slowly made his way back to the couch. He glanced back at Ratchet, but only got shooed onward. Once he was on the couch, the lights went back out, and very soon he could hear the quiet hum of Ratchet’s recharging systems.

Just what the frag game was this?

~ | ~

Ratchet was making a point of being very… distant with Drift. After about four days, Drift got it already, and he was sick of it. He liked the medic better when he laughed easily, smiled often, and didn’t play the rigid professional. It felt wrong, but Drift understood why he was doing it.

The question was, was it _only_ Ratchet?

Drift twisted the rag, drying the beaker and watching as Perceptor worked. For a mech that was supposed to be supervising Drift, he seemed pretty slagging absorbed in his project.

Well. No time like the present. No one else was in the lab, so Drift put the beaker and cloth down, then skirted the end of the workbench to stand next to Perceptor.

“I never got the chance to thank you for trying to figure out how to get me home.” Drift smirked a little as his voice purred. He hadn’t bothered trying to use that tone in a _long_ time, but it rolled out of his vocalizer as smoothly as his finger slipped down Perceptor’s arm.

Perceptor glanced up, beaming a smile at Drift. “You are very welcome. Do I have a smudge?” He straightened, pulling a cloth from his subspace. “How did I manage to splash my upper arm?”

Drift cocked his helm to the side, confused. What the slag was the mech babbling about?

“I don’t see anything.” Perceptor looked back over at Drift, his own confusion stamped all over his face.

“No.” Drift chuckled a little, and leaned in closer. “No, I mean, I want to _thank_ you.”

Perceptor blinked, then blinked again. “Oh! _Oh_!” He stumbled back a few steps, optics flaring bright and wide open. “Oh my! Oh my no! We cannot- You- I mean- Oh dear no, that would be so very wrong! _So_ very _wrong_!”

“What’d be wrong?” Wheeljack asked, making both Perceptor and Drift jump.

“Drift wanted to thank me!” Perceptor squeaked.

Wheeljack snickered. “Well, that’s ni-”

“ _No_! He wanted to… _**thank**_ me.”

Wheeljack blinked, and Drift felt his face heat when the mech turned his optics to him. “Who put that idea in yer head? Ratchet know about this?” he asked Perceptor.

“Not yet.”

“Someone’s gonna get turned inta a vacuum,” Wheeljack said with feeling.

“Oh, is Ratchet threating vacuums this week?” Skyfire asked as he entered. “Who now?”

“Nah, but he’s gonna when he finds out someone told Drift he oughta thank Percy here with a ‘facin’.”

Skyfire’s optics went round. “What?! Did someone try to coerce you?”

Drift skittered back a few steps as Skyfire took a few _big_ strides toward him, but then the tall mech stopped, hands coming up. “Sorry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He looked over toward Wheeljack and Perceptor. “We should tell Prime.”

“What?” Drift gasped. “No! You don’t-”

“It’s ok,” Wheeljack said, and Perceptor reached out to pat Drift awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Or it will be.” Perceptor removed his hand, and offered an uncomfortable-looking smile. “This is wrong.”

“It’s very wrong,” Skyfire agreed, and Wheeljack was nodding so emphatically that Drift was surprised not to hear anything rattle. “It doesn’t matter who did it, or even if he thought he was making a joke. That’s a damn nasty prank to pull, and such things aren’t to be stood for!”

Drift blinked, stunned as Skyfire worked himself up.

“It’s not your fault,” Wheeljack said.

Drift shook his helm, feeling like the ground was spinning out from under his feet. “No… No, it wasn’t here!”

Wheeljack hissed a breath. “Oh.”

“But then-” Perceptor started, then cut off.

“Where you came from.” Skyfire frowned, lips pressing into a flat line. “That mech that was holding you prisoner took advantage of you that way?”

“No,” Drift snapped, heat flushing through his face. “It wasn’t being taken advantage of! Wing was beautiful. _Good_. Why are you looking at me like that?!”

The three shared a look, and Perceptor said, “We should tell Ratchet.”

Drift snarled, and stormed out of the lab, uncaring of whether he was ditching his escort or not.

~ | ~

Ratchet plunked a shimmering, bright pink cube of what had to be high grade down on the table in front of Drift. “So how long ‘til you’re done sulking?”

Drift grabbed the cube and drained it in one long pull.

Ratchet snorted and pushed another toward him. “So, I know on our world we don’t have a flashy term for the sympathy a prisoner may come to feel for his captors, but the humans do.”

Drift scowled, then poured half the second cube of high grade down his intakes. Slag burned too, but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever hand.

“Don’t look at me like that. There are lines between a guardian and his ward that are there to protect the person with less power. If you’re a good person, you don’t cross them.” Ratchet tipped his helm to the side, giving Drift a considering look. “I think it’s time to get you out and around the others. You need to meet them, they need to get used to you, and I’m pretty sure you won’t suddenly go off on a murderous rampage.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Drift grumbled, then finished the cube. He could feel the fuzzy hum starting in his helm. “Gonna need more than two cubes if you expect me to face the pitying looks of the natives.”

Ratchet laughed and shook his head. “I’m pretty sure pity will be the last thing anyone gives you. Personally, I’d be braced for distrust, suspicion, or overly exuberant friendliness in the hopes that you won’t decide to kill the mech in question.”

Drift stared into his empty cube a moment, then lifted his gaze to Ratchet’s. “Yup. More high grade required.”

A few more cubes each and about half an hour later found Drift pleasantly drunk and stumbling into the common room with Ratchet. “M’kay, you were right,” he said.

“Hm?” Ratchet asked, then snickered as he tripped over his own feet. “I’m always right, but what this time?”

“No pity.” Drift pointed. “They look fragged off.”

“Pff. That’s Gears. He’s always fragged off.”

“Get bent!” Gears shouted.

“You get bent!” Ratchet laughed.

Drift let himself be tugged along, and pushed down into a chair. He snickered, but pointed a finger at Ratchet as the medic dropped into a seat of his own. “That was lame.”

“You get bent too.”

“Why’s the ‘Con out of his cage?” someone else asked, but Drift wasn’t looking, and it wasn’t Gears.

“Yeah, I was enjoying my meal!” That was Gears.

Ratchet’s helm rolled to the side to look over at the cluster of minibots. “You never enjoy anything.”

“Not a cage.” Drift let his chin rest on his fist, and pushed at a mark on the tabletop with the tip of a finger.

“What was that, ‘Con?”

“Not a ‘Con,” Drift replied. He frowned up at Ratchet. “You have bad ideas when you’re drunk.”

“No pity though.”

Drift snorted, but accepted the new cube of high grade Ratchet pushed at him.

The complaining continued, but Drift just stared around, amused. He chased down a thought, snickering as the room gave a dizzy tilt. He thought he might understand why Ratchet brought him out drunk. He was sitting there giggling like an idiot with the medic. Insults were rolling off him, and when he did comment, it was usually in response to Ratchet’s snarking. Drift even thought that any actual ire from when they first arrived had faded into a sort of bantering and bickering that felt almost normal.

“Oh, come on already,” Ratchet said, and pulled at Drift’s arm. “Fragging Primus, kid, you’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes just staring into space.” He laughed, and so did the others. Drift joined in because, hey, laughter!

Drift wasn’t at all sure how the two of them managed to get to Ratchet’s quarters so fast, or without falling down, but there they were. He followed Ratchet to his berth, and flopped down beside him.

“And now you’re drunk so that makes it even worse,” Ratchet said, pushing at Drift.

“Shut up. Not try’na ‘face ya. Want snuggles.” Drift wriggled his way into Ratchet’s side, tucked his head onto a white shoulder, and passed out.

~ | ~

“I truly believe you will enjoy this,” Perceptor said, smiling at Drift as they walked toward the common room. Wheeljack and Beachcomber were chatting behind them, but Drift was more amused and interested in how animated Perceptor’s face was as he built up ‘movie night’ yet again. “We finally have a copy of _The Goonies_. I went to the drive-in with Jazz while it was there and found it thoroughly entertaining.”

Drift smiled. “What’s a goony?”

“A human youngling.” Perceptor grinned, and hurried into the common room. “Quickly now. Before all the good seats are taken.”

Humans were weird, Drift decided.

There were only a few mechs in the common room, but then that was the point of the scientists dragging Drift out of the lab and away from his duties early. They wanted to beat the crowd, or so he’d been told.

“Over here,” Perceptor called, and plopped himself right in the middle of one of the sofas.

“Hey, guys,” Blaster called out.

Jazz waved. “What’s up, my mechs?”

“Save me a spot,” Wheeljack called over his shoulder as he and Beachcomber aimed for the energon dispenser.

Drift nodded to Blaster and Jazz, took the seat next to Perceptor, and got comfortable. He accepted a cube from Beachcomber with a quiet, “Thank you,” then took to watching the others as his sipped his energon.

Wheeljack sat at the far end, and Beachcomber settled right into his lap.

“Aw! Slaggers! Already got the couch.”

Drift twisted to look back as more mechs entered. He grinned and pointed at the much more used and abused lumpy sofa. “There’s always that one.”

“Smug bastard,” Sideswipe muttered, but he was smiling a little, and fell into the other sofa despite the complaints.

Drift settled back, then tensed as Perceptor snuggled into his side, but it went no further than that. Prime arrived with Prowl and Ironhide, and almost before Prime was seated he had Bumblebee crawling into his lap. Ratchet appeared with Skyfire, and after the big shuttle sat on the floor there was a small, laughter-filled tussle for who won the prize of sitting on his shoulders, then in his lap. Ratchet snickered, and made himself cozy against the front of the couch right next to Drift’s leg.

The hum of conversation filled the room, drowned out by laughter and the occasional ribald joke. Drift could hear Sideswipe flirting with Skids. Skids was lying on his front, feet in the air and swinging slightly, smiling and flirting back, but his doorwings weren’t really perked up. Drift watched them, then a few others. None of them sounded serious, or like they even expected to go to the other mech’s berth.

Even those that were snuggling and cuddling did not put off any sort of pre-interfacing vibe, which Drift felt fairly confident that he would pick up on. The lights dimmed, and the movie started. Voices hushed, and Drift found the interactions of the Autobots around him more interesting that the movie. He couldn’t imagine _any_ Decepticon doing any of this.

Cuddling up? Pff. The playful wrestling that included not one hint of real anger? Never. Pits, Drift had witnessed Decepticons pulling blasters on one another over desired seats. And flirting? Just to do it, and without the intent of getting a piece? Most Decepticons didn’t even flirt. ‘Wanna frag?’ was good. Sometimes though, an unsuspecting mech just got pinned to something and fragged whether he wanted it or not. Most Decepticons were barely more than criminals anymore.

Perceptor sat up straight and applauded with many others, so Drift clapped too, as the movie was shut off.

“Did you like it?” Perceptor asked, smiling widely.

Drift grinned, glancing down at Ratchet as he twisted to look up at Drift too, then back to the scientist. “Enjoyed it,” he replied with a nod, though truthfully, he couldn’t recall much of it. There were pirates and human younglings, and an old, rickety looking water ship which Drift had serious doubts as to its sailing capabilities, but yes, overall, he had enjoyed himself.

~ | ~

“Careful, Perce,” Cliffjumper said as he and Gears exited the _Ark_ ’s main entrance. “Don’t want the ‘Con escaping.”

Drift snorted from where he was lounging with his hands behind his helm in the grass. “Yeah, I’m sure yankin’ at my leash here.”

“Should be leashed. Probably just waiting for your chance to murder us all in our recharge.” Gears cast Drift a sneer, but Drift just shrugged.

“I’ll start with you, if that’d make you feel better?”

“Drift.” Perceptor poked Drift’s arm, but if that was all the mech could manage for chastisement, it really was good Drift had no plans on hurting anyone.

“Glitch,” Cliffjumper said.

“You’re short,” Drift shot back with a grin.

Both minibots huffed and stomped off, transforming at the road to start their patrol. Drift snickered and rolled his helm to look up at Perceptor. He frowned a little, and pushed himself to sit when he saw how tensely the mech was holding himself, his plating clamped in tight.

“You ok?”

Perceptor gave himself a shake, and offered Drift a smile that didn’t reach his optics. “I apologize. Confrontations with the two of them are usually not so… simple. Or as quickly ended.”

Drift had honestly had far worse as far as verbal baiting or attempts to rile his temper went. Then he snorted. “You expected me to give them a beating?”

Perceptor’s face visibly heated. “Yes. It is what usually happens, and it would have been rather bad had you lost your temper with them. They tend to do that. I’ve witnessed them pushing Sunstreaker, Tracks, and even Mirage into snapping and engaging in a physical fight.”

Drift reached over to pat Perceptor’s arm. It was a bit of an awkward gesture. He just wasn’t used to trying to comfort mechs, or ease their minds. “Don’t worry. Real Autobot of them though.”

Perceptor snickered, then laughed a little harder. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

Perceptor was already rising, so Drift climbed to his feet too. “Sure.”

~ | ~

Drift stood under the spray of the shower, the patter of the gloriously hot water filling the entire washracks. He hadn’t taken part in the battle against the Decepticons, but he had helped Ratchet in the medbay. A few Autobots were still tensing whenever he got close to them, but most were fine and only expressed a mild surprise that Drift knew how to do the temporary patches and triaging. He had shrugged, and explained at least half a dozen times that as a Decepticon, a mech either knew how to tend his wounds, or he died.

Working with fluid-covered post-battle mechs was dirty, and Drift had slipped out to clean up as soon as he had been sure Ratchet didn’t need him. He should probably stop enjoying the endless heated water and get on with that.

Drift had just foamed up a scrub brush and started on his arms when he heard the door open. He glanced back, hoping it wasn’t anyone that liked to give him slag, but it was just Bumblebee.

The little mech hung in the doorway, stammering, his optics wide and pale. Drift rolled his optics and turned away. Pits, he’d been there over a month, and hadn’t had a single issue with _his_ temper despite how a certain few liked to goad him.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Turning, Drift waved a hand at the showerheads lining the wall. “Not my private ‘racks.”

“Heh. Yeah.” Bumblebee entered, the smile on his face nervous and forced. “I could help with your back?”

“Got this,” Drift said, holding up the long-handled scrub brush. “But thanks. You gonna need help?”

Pale blue optics widened. “N-n-no. Just, um… You know, want to help you feel welcome.” Bumblebee scurried to a showerhead a couple down from Drift and started the water. “So, um, how do you like it here so far?”

“Fine,” Drift answered. He was occasionally bored, but he wasn’t going stir-crazy.

Then it hit him. _Really_ hit him. Bumblebee was babbling on, but Drift wasn’t processing the words. He was stunned to realize it, but he _wasn’t_ going stir-crazy. He didn’t have the urge to chew off his own foot to escape. He didn’t feel _trapped_.

Pits, he had skipped a battle and hadn’t even missed it. The fact that he probably wouldn’t have been allowed to fight didn’t even enter the picture. He hadn’t _ached_ , he _didn’t_ ache now to get back into combat. Sure, he’d fight if they needed him, but he wasn’t twisting inside his own plating like he had been in New Crystal City.

Drift shook his helm, and got back to scrubbing. He tried to pay attention to Bumblebee, at least enough to grunt some sound in the appropriate places, but his mind was spinning.

Well, damn. He liked it there.

~ | ~

For days Drift churned his thoughts over and over. He needed to build himself a new life. He was gaining trust little by little, and would dare to say he even had a few friends. Wheeljack was a riot and too devious for his own good. He apparently liked creating minor explosions. Not many knew he did it on purpose, and he claimed that he’d ended a few battles with a win for the Autobots simply by saying, “Uh oh!” then running.

Ratchet was good too. He had a wicked sense of humor, and liked to threaten the most ridiculous things he could come up with. It was a running joke. That and his tool-throwing reputation. Drift had asked why the frag he would throw tools, and Ratchet had responded that he didn’t. The one time it’d happened in the academy, he’d accidentally nailed a fellow student in the helm with a wrench that had slipped his grip.

“It was the damndest thing, and they _never_ let me live it down.”

Then there was Perceptor. Drift just liked listening to the mech talk. He didn’t often understand, but Perceptor was so chipper and enthusiastic about everything it didn’t matter. He was the exact opposite of everyone Drift had ever known. Even Wing. Wing had had a sadness to him. Perceptor smiled constantly, cursed by saying ridiculous things like ‘fiddlesticks’, and was, frankly, just plain adorable. Drift liked being around him the most.

What he liked best of all was how no one pushed. No one demanded he _show_ his gratitude to them for saving him. He was just there, a fixture like all of them, and he liked it. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to go back to his own timeline. Or rather, he could and he didn’t like thinking about it.

What if he did go back? Would it be to New Crystal City? If so, then what? Go back to how things were with Wing? He didn’t want that. The idea almost repulsed him. Wing was beautiful and powerful, and could work Drift over to exhaustion in the most painful and delightful ways, but it was all manipulation. A game that Drift was going to lose no matter what he did. Had _any_ of it ever been genuine? Drift knew now that it was certainly wrong. He couldn’t see how they could ever have been equals, even had Wing really thought he meant it when he whispered his affection in Drift’s audials.

Wing _had_ shown Drift something good, but he had gone about it the wrong way. Drift never could have accepted New Crystal City when he was nothing but a prisoner being forced to conform, and the city would never truly have accepted him.

Here, however, he felt comfortable. Maybe Drift’s presence wasn’t particularly welcomed by everyone, but that would have been beyond his wildest expectations anyway. He was content, more than, with the access to quality energon, something productive to do, and mechs he didn’t feel a burning hatred for around him-

“Hey,” Ratchet said, adding a sharp poke to Drift’s arm. “You still in this sector?”

Drift grinned and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Ratchet’s helm tilted to the side, a concerned look spreading over his face.

“Can I have my own quarters?” Drift asked. He’d imposed on Ratchet enough. The second berth took up more space than the medic’s room really had, and though they were doing fine sharing, Drift wanted his own place. He was willing to bet Ratchet wouldn’t mind being roommate-free too.

“Uh.” Ratchet stared at Drift for a moment, then gave a decisive nod. “Yeah, ok. Let’s go bug Prime about it.”

Drift flashed the medic a bright smile, and headed for the door.

~ | ~

If Drift had expected anything in regards to the news going around that he was getting his own quarters, it would have been to learn that mechs were complaining. There was that from a select few, but what he never could have imagined was Sunstreaker showing up, pounding on his door, then stomping in with buckets of primer and paint, Sideswipe dutifully hauling a circular sander in his twin’s wake.

A very busy day of sanding, priming, and then painting later, Sideswipe broke out a strangely sweet, blue high grade. The three of them sat in the middle of the room, the low roar of industrial fans forcing any conversation to be shouted. Drift was content to listen to Sideswipe bait his brother, and Sunstreaker snipe and curse back.

Not long after Sunstreaker deemed the walls dry enough for him to leave- “But don’t fragging touch them anyways. Got it?!”- Mirage stopped by.

“Oh, I do like this blue better, Drift.”

“Sunstreaker chose it,” Drift said, inviting the mech in. “Just don’t touch the walls. Pretty sure he’ll slag me if there’re smudges.”

Mirage snickered and pulled a small object from his subspace. “It doesn’t appear that you have any shelves yet, but this is for when you do.”

Drift took the cloth-wrapped gift, and peeled the fabric back. It was a crystal cluster, nice points, pinkish at the base and clear at the ends. Small enough that he could have closed his fist around it, but pretty. “This is… Thanks.”

Mirage smiled a perfect, bright smile that made Drift tense a bit for how similar it was to Wing’s. “You are quite welcome. It is rose quartz from here on Earth. Nothing terribly expensive, but I liked it, and I have a rule that I do not give gifts that I do not wish to keep for myself.”

That was weird, but whatever. Mirage was a Towerling, and they were quirky to begin with, but the gift was still nice. “I like it.” Drift smiled back, and even managed the polite etiquette thing of offering Mirage some of the high grade Sideswipe had left for him.

“Oh thank you, but I’m afraid I must decline this time. I merely wished to stop by before my patrol to give you that.”

Drift had barely closed his door after seeing Mirage out when the chime sounded again. He tucked the crystal into his subspace for safekeeping, and opened the door to see Prowl standing there.

“Good evening, Drift. Settling in well, I hope?”

“Yeah.” Drift stepped back, gesturing the Second in Command to enter.

“I have a bit of a housewarming gift for you.” Prowl held out a stack of six datapads, tied neatly together with a broad metal mesh ribbon. “I thought you might enjoy learning more about our history here. I tried to choose the ones with the least propaganda from either side, but I’m afraid it’s almost impossible to avoid.”

“Either side?” Drift asked, taking the datapads.

“Of course. If you were only to read the accounts from one side of the war or the other you would have an incomplete view.”

Drift tipped his helm. “Ain’t it a bit dangerous giving the ex-‘Con Decepticon histories?”

“I don’t see why,” Prowl said. “You already are intimately familiar with Decepticon life, and if you chose to leave us for them, I would certainly not be the only one grievously disappointed, but it would be your choice.” Doorwings lifted and dropped a little in what might have been a shrug, but Drift wasn’t sure. “For my part, I’m glad you’re here and doing so well. I know many are fond of you.

“I hope you enjoy those,” Prowl said, and keyed open the door. “I have a few tasks to complete, but my office door is always open to you should you need me.”

“Thanks,” Drift murmured, staring at his door for a long moment after it shut. He didn’t know how to process all this, so just decided to accept it. His life had never _not_ been strange on some level. This was just a new kind of strange.

Drift wasn’t surprised when his chime alerted him to another guest, and he smiled in genuine happiness to see Perceptor waiting. “Come in.”

Perceptor chewed his lip and wrung his hands as he stepped into Drift’s room. “I- Well, I wanted to come tell you right away.”

Drift picked up a cube of high grade, and handed it to Perceptor. He took it and sipped, seemingly on automatic, then flinched back, holding the cube at arm’s length. Drift snickered when Perceptor reconsidered and took another, though smaller, sip.

“What did you want to tell me?” Drift asked.

“I know how to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Send you back,” Perceptor replied. Drift’s optics shot wide, but Perceptor was already stumbling onward. “I was just fiddling with concepts and playing about, trying to see what I could do. It was just such a curious puzzle, and… well, I can reopen the portal and send you home.” He bit his lip, hands clutching tight to the energon. “If you want me to.”

Drift’s spark leapt, and for a moment he really did consider it. If he went back, however, knowing what he knew now, how would he ever live under Wing’s thumb again? He didn’t even really desire him. Memories ran cold. Wing was gorgeous, a good frag, but Drift didn’t want to pay the price. He certainly no longer believed that he’d be set free if he happened to beat Wing in a spar.

In fact, if he _did_ go back, he would request that Dai Atlas remove him from Wing’s guardianship. That would leave him at square one with a mech he knew nothing about, not to mention he would have to start all over earning trust. _Learning_ to trust them. He would also still be trapped. He wouldn’t get to go to the surface, feel the wind or let the sun warm his plating. He wouldn’t get to watch the Dinobots play their basketball games, or listen to Perceptor chatter on about his newest project.

Right now, he could walk out the front door. He could look up and admire the alien stars. He could _leave_ if he wanted to. His… friends would want- would ask him to stay, but they wouldn’t stop him. Not even Autobot Command would stop him if he chose to go. Perceptor was right in front of him, all but crushing the energon cube in his distress, offering to let Drift go.

It was _his_ choice.

“Nah. Rather stay,” Drift said, then darted forward to grab the cube as it slipped out of Perceptor’s hands.

“Oh thank the stars!” Energon forgotten, Perceptor threw his arms around Drift’s shoulders and hugged him tight.

Drift laughed, and peeled his way free. Perceptor clutched his hands together, bouncing on his feet.

“I’m so relieved! I also have a little gift too. Well, I should say experiment.” Perceptor pulled a bottle from his subspace. “You see, Wheeljack had a bit of an accident, but the results were fascinating, and we believe that we have created a more durable and comfortable padding. I thought since your berth is incomplete, perhaps we could try it out.” His face flashed to hot pink, and he stammered, “I… I mean you. You could try it out. I would just pour this on the berth frame, and then, if you don’t mind of course, you could tell us how you like it. Or if you do not. All data is important.”

Drift snickered. He was really beginning to like the way Perceptor flushed. He wasn’t at all ready to see where whatever was causing that blush could go yet, but it was nice that Perceptor felt it. It was nice that Drift could think about pursuing it on his own terms, and that until then, he had a friend he _knew_ wouldn’t push him.

“Let’s try it,” Drift said, and picked the datapads up off the metal surface of his berth.


End file.
